


Weapons Don't Weep

by Anarchyduck



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Nyotalia, Sword Sparring, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24203830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anarchyduck/pseuds/Anarchyduck
Summary: The Teutonic Order spars with her Commander as he prepares her for the wars to come.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 18





	Weapons Don't Weep

**Author's Note:**

> [NOTE: Komtur = Knight Commander in Teutonic Order.  
> Located at Marienburg (Malbork Castle), before the war with Poland (1326-1332)  
> Age looking wise, Teutonic is probably 6 or 7 years old.]
> 
> Inspired by this prompt: ‘You’re a weapon and weapons don’t weep’

Teutonic Order hits the ground hard, her sparring sword flying from her hand. Muscles protest as she raises herself up to her knees. The cold air bites her insides with each breath and she reaches for the sword as she climbs to her feet. She turns to face her opponent. Komtur Wilhelm is a great deal bigger than her, taller and bulkier. He stands at the ready, sword in hand.

“Bend your knees.” He instructs. “Keep your eyes on your opponent.” 

The Order takes a breath as she waits for the signal to begin. Wilhelm gives her a curt nod and she lunges forward. She swings her sword forward and he parries. She slides backward in the dirt, vibrations running down her arm from the blow. She charges forward again, lowers her blade and angles it toward his belly. Wilhelm steps to the side, lowers his sword to counter her. The blades scrap against one another and he sweeps his foot out, catching her by the ankle and sending her into the dirt. 

“You hesitated.” He remarks. 

“I did not.” She grits her teeth and pushes herself up from the ground. 

They position themselves again and Wilhelm gives her the nod to begin. The Order steps to the side and he mirrors her. She takes a step forward, blade raised and he raises his to block. For every step forward, he takes a step back. The Order watches, confidence blooming in her chest, and she steps forward again. Instead of taking a step back, as she expects, Wilhelm darts forward instead. His fist hits her hard, forcing the air from her lungs in a rush. She doubles over into the dirt, heaving and gasping for breath. 

“Don’t follow where your enemy leads you.” Wilhelm chides. 

Anger rises in her small body. She spits and rises again to face him. This time, she doesn’t wait for his signal. She charges forward, blade up. He counters her blows. Strike. Parry. Strike. She lunges forward and he catches her foot again, sending her into the dirt. 

“Again.” 

The Teutonic Order growls against the dirt and she climbs to her feet once more. Sword in hand, she circles him and charges again. 

Parry. Counter. Parry. Her arms aches from the amount of force she puts into her swings. She ducks as he swings his blade, feet sliding through the dirt as she dodges him. She thrusts her swords forward and he leaps back to avoid it. She rises and they circle one another again. 

He waits. She doesn’t. 

She charges forward, swings up. It hits his blade with a clang. She draws back to strike him again, arms raised. A heavy boot hits her hard in the chest, sending her flying back into the dirt. 

The Order wheezes and coughs as she struggles to regain her breath. She fumbles for her sword, fingers digging into the hard soil in search of it. Just as she finds it the Komtur steps on her hand. 

Wilhelm lays the tip of the blunt blade against her chest. “You’re dead, girl.” He says. 

She glares at him. “You cheated.” 

“There’s no cheating in battle. You live or you die.” He takes his boot off her hand and pulls his blade away from her. The Order groans as she rolls over and tries to stand. Her knees shake and buckle beneath her, and she barely catches herself from falling.

“That’s enough for today.” Wilhelm says. She snaps her head up, watching as he turns from her and puts away the sparring sword on the nearby rack. 

“No! I can keep going!” She insists as she pushes herself to stand. Her legs tremble and dots dance in her vision. Her body aches, it hurts to breathe, but she refuses to give up. She will not admit defeat.

“You can’t. You can barely keep hold of your sword.” He nods toward her arms that shake from effort. “Go wash up and prepare to pray with our brothers.” 

The Order stares at him, wide eyed and unable to believe she’s being dismissed. Dismissed! As if she is some common pageboy! As if she is a child! She grinds her teeth together, eyes blazing as she tightens her grip on the handle. 

With a cry, she sprints forward. Sword raised, she aims to jab it into his back. 

In a flash of sudden speed, Wilhelm spins around, knocks her blade away with the armor of his arm. With his other hand, he catches hold of her tunic, gripping it tight and hoists her up. The blade hits the ground as her feet leave it. Her fingers dig into his arm as she kicks and struggles in his grasp. He doesn’t release her, just brings her up eye level. His eyes are dark and hard, like the cold landscape that surrounds the castle. 

“That pride of yours is sinful and it will be your downfall if you do not learn to control.” He gives her a shake then tosses her to the ground. “If you don’t want to be skinned by the pagans, you had best learn to obey.” 

The Order sits up, eyes focused on the disturbed ground. She curls her fingers in it, feeling rocks and dirt scrape against her fingertips. Hot tears spring to her eyes, her ears burn, and she feels as if she might explode. Her throat tightens and she takes in a shuddered breath, biting her lip to prevent a frustrated sob from escaping. 

Wilhelm stares down at her. He was told about her by the Grand Master. She may have the appearance of a child, but a child she is not. She is a weapon; an instrument given by the Lord to spearhead their Order. 

“Dry your eyes, girl.” He orders. “Get on your feet.” 

The Order sniffles and she slowly climbs to her feet once more. She teeters back in a wave of dizziness and she furiously wipes the tears from her face. Leather gloved fingers slide beneath her chin, forcing her to look up at her Komtur. “Remember this,” He says. “You are a weapon of God and of the Teutonic Order. Weapons do not weep.” 

She exhales heavily and nods. “Yes sir.” He releases her chin and instructs her to put away her sparring weapon. Her eyes burn and she wipes away tears with her dirty hands, and she does as she’s told.


End file.
